’ ‘No, and I do not wish to do so,’ Melusine pointed out. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Plainly. ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. “No,” she answered. They sat in the front row. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket.
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