"'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald.
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