The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. “Please don’t,” she said. She put back her hood in a determined way. Melusine gave herself a little mental shake.
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