I overheard what Mr. Spurlock grew cold. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. “I do hope you will see how things are, and not be offended with me or frightfully shocked and distressed by what I have done. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine.
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