The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. Good riddance. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. I don’t think that the rest of the people here like us very well, do they, Arthur, so we’re obliged to be friends. ‘I know, Melusine. I only wish he was not a Papist and a Jacobite.
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