’ His head came thrusting out at Melusine like a belligerent tortoise from its shell. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. Her mind left her. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. This she would not endure. They then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber.
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