” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. “No one asks you to care for them. 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. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’ ‘Certainly I was following.
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