She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. " "May be," returned the man gravely. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. ” The corners of her lips rose along with her eyebrows. The risk I run is nothing to yours. ” She stepped into the curtains as Martin stared daggers. .
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