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Mr. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. His brows drew a little nearer together. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. Sixteen thousand! Mark me, young man, you'll pay it back through the nose, every dollar of it!" "I owe you nothing.
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