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’ Melusine withdrew her hand. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. A slow anger burned in the man. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. Good-bye aunt. "No!" she cried. I was his wife.
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