His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. “I think I ought to have one. Why open my mouth if there might not be a need for it when all’s said?’ Melusine acknowledged the logic of this. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind.
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