At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. His literary instincts began to stir. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. “You told me that in the Zoological Gardens.
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