"My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. ’ Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair.
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