She is no longer mine; she is yours. “It was inevitable,” he declared. ’ ‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. .
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