’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. A sinister thought edged in. Just because she was sorry for that young fool! "Uh-huh," he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth's table. " "Not if it will hurt her. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn.
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