Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. ’ Melusine frowned, placing her hand on the letter lying on the table.
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