She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. “I have my methods. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. Her eye met his four inches away, and his was glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye.
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