"While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. That's the job. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too.
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