He glanced up. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. Melusine came close again, and reached up a finger tentatively to the face depicted there.
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