’ Melusine’s arm crept up around his neck. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. Whatever she does is minimized.
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