"Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. Anyhow, that is how things are. Return, I implore of you, to your master,—to Mr. ” He sat like a man turned to stone. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things.
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