"Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. And yet—I love you. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. Then he stood up and repeated it again. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. ’ Melusine knew it to be true. ’ ‘But this is idiot.
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