’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Again he rushed. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. From beginning to end it was first-hand stuff.
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