Then he threw the letter at me. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. Man's fate is in his own hands. And they’ll shut the gates presently. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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