Then her eyes flashed. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. Take your pick, Mrs. You know you do, Annabel. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort.
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