There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. All she had found was the love of this dog. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. Hastily, he reached for the door.
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