He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. "That's scarcely a fair question, Mr. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. All right really. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. The garçon was tipped as he had never been tipped before in his life.
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