’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. "Don't stir," replied Jack. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. The disgrace of the leaders of the late Tory administration had strengthened, rather than injured, their cause.
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