” “What’s our lot?” asked her sister. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. In a sense I don’t care. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood. . ‘Because she, naturally enough, does not consider that it is in any way my affair.
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