‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’ ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. ’ Trodger frowned, and chewed his lip. .
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