’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. I’ve never muffed an exam yet. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Melusine came back to the present to discover that tears were rolling down her cheeks. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England.
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