’ He turned to Melusine, ignoring the indignant protest that greeted his words. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out of the room it lies down on the mat at the door. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance.
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