’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. Sydney sprang up. It's fine with me if it's fine with Cathy, darlin’. Not I. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head.
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