And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking.
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