Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine.
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