You needn’t be in any doubt about it. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. Then he paused. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. He went over her features one by one in his mind. It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. “In a sense—yes. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. We’ll go to the shops.
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