And experience was slow in coming. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night. . ’ ‘Yes, that is reasonable,’ agreed Melusine, nodding. “Not to-night,” she said. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind.
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