Lucilla shoved Roding out of the way so that she could take hold of Melusine’s hands again. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. "A sail?" said McClintock. Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse.
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