Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. ‘Well then, Melusine,’ he said calmly, ‘it seems as if we must get you your dowry willy-nilly. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated.
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