“It’s my fault. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. ’ ‘She once more,’ came in disgust from the girl on the bed. You can do anything you please. ‘Couldn’t reconcile it with my dooty to leave you here—’ A thought made Melusine stop dead, turning to him. Tears sprang to her eyes. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city.
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