" That was true, thought Spurlock. I—I hurt myself. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. The next few hours will tell. ‘That is true,’ Melusine conceded. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you.
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