His attention was focused on Melusine’s transfixed stare and he forgot to say any of the things he had planned to say. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them.
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