Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. You shall not take me alive. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. There are many things which I do not understand. Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. Wood," said the lady bridling up, "my request may, perhaps, have some weight with you. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford.
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