I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her father would say: "Faith. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. You don't realize what you have done. ’ ‘Hélas, poor you,’ Melusine rejoined sarcastically. We'll get this chap on his feet if only to learn what the trouble is. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed.
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