With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. This started a thought moving. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly.
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