A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. I’ll feel fine as soon as I get out of my wet clothes. "This young fool is come to restore the article—whatever it may be—which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined.
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