"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. She was mentally transported for an instant to the old castle in Herculis. She had been carrying them, he assumed, but then again the school had some particularly talented kids among the usual ruffians. But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy.
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