The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. “Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” said she. No surprise, for Melusine was aware no Frenchman in his situation would dream of walking abroad unarmed.
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