’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided.
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