His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. And the sergeant, having carried out all Melusine’s instructions as if they had come out of his own head, went up to check on his patient, apparently at last convinced that his prisoner would not attempt to run away. Mr. ’ ‘A life of ease?’ repeated Melusine. Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart.
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