’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. Leastways, not on your own. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities.
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