And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make.
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