Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it. Supposing they find you and take you away?—and she unprepared? Have you thought of that? Why did you marry her?" "God alone knows!" "And you don't love her! What kind of a woman do you want, anyhow?"—with rising anger. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling.
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