’ His head came thrusting out at Melusine like a belligerent tortoise from its shell. This did not affect Spurlock. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes.
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