Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame.
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