She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room. . ” “Not yet,” he said. It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami.
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