"The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. That wasn’t even the worst thing. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. ’ Melusine’s arm crept up around his neck. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. If ever he requires my services, he shall find I'm not ungrateful.
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