. But eventually Spurlock laughed. Pennsylvania Dutch. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. . ’ She was seized by two strong hands and drawn close. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. She heard the shower running and looked at his floor. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. CHAPTER XII.
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