She could not part with dignity. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. But I trusted to that ring of yours. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably.
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