“He can’t be more than thirty. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. I don’t care WHAT happens.
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