Manning relinquished his cup, and looked meaningly at Ann Veronica. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. ’ ‘I spit on your plan,’ Melusine told him furiously.
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