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’ ‘Back?’ Melusine put a hand to her aching temple. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. They sold him the whisky. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees.
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