Moving to the shuttered window, Melusine dragged the heavy drapes back. Spurlock bent his head to his knees. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. .
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