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6. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Perhaps my wife has already prepared you for what I wish to say. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. No man knew whence she had come nor why. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. ‘You are stubborn like a mule. ’ Melusine stared.
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