’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. “Poor little Miniver! What can she be but what she is?. A pretty piece. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time.
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