David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. She moved a little nearer to him. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine.
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