“I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. For she needed him. It’s a beautiful plant, but a tender one. I will come later to see you, Melusine. We are not animals.
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