‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. If I am to have no other opportunity I will speak before them.
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