“Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. The atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. I believe I am doomed to be an old maid. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive.
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