"Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. I am sure he would go with you. She studied the face and tried to visualize the body, clothed in the dress which had created the spinsters' astonishment. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity.
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