She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. "Get from under it, Jack!" vociferated Thames. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city.
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