’ ‘That old fool? Why my brother kept him on I shall never know. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. I don’t quite know why. 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. Stanley poured wine. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries.
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