There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. Melusine tapped on it. Then he turned to Anna.
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