Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. It was not a hopeful looking group. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. ’ Gerald did not speak, but there was a look in his face that made Melusine glad she had at last had the courage to confide in him. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. ‘Suzanne, if I may say, had also not the choice.
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