“It was inevitable,” he declared. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way.
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