‘Melusine. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. We both understood that.
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