Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it. I want to get away—to go to London.
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