Manning,” she said, “I warned you not to idealize me. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. So, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing.
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