The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. It had ever been her policy, much to Melusine’s relief, for she was apt to complain that it only made her mad and there was nothing she could do about it. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age.
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