Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. It had been a trying day. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. Probably she was married years ago and is now merely on the way to her husband's house. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. I bored him.
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