And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Mon cher major, Melusine began. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley.
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