"'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again.
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