“What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. ‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls.
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