The Times slipped from his fingers. ‘You know what I am about,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. I trust that she will not misunderstand me.
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