“You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. He resumed his listening. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. “Dear John,” she whispered. ’ Amazed, Melusine stared at him. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage.
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