The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. 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 back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it.
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