’ About to hurry from the little parlour, Melusine remembered Mrs Ibstock. Bête, she told herself fiercely. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. He drew her away from this thought. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. I’m a soldier, you see.
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