"I shall do no such thing. I’ve got nothing to do for a month but think. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head.
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