“Thank God,” he exclaimed. "Who is it?" "He didn't give his name, Sir," replied the maid; "but he's a young gentleman. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. And severely hurt that pig, which was a very good thing.
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