"Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. “P. ‘Do not beg my pardon.
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