But I do not love you. It was the grand nursery of vice. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. ’ Melusine could not suppress a smile. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. After all, old P. Mike chortled.
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