Were such a thing to happen again, I'd never let Mr. ’ ‘It’s no use blaming me, Gerald,’ uttered Roding, shrugging helplessly as his senior turned questioning eyes on him. ‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left them. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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