” Annabel had been lying curled up on the lounge, the personification of graceful animal ease. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face.
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