CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. ’ Of which Melusine was only too well aware, for her stepmother had done nothing to save her from the convent. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. In the midst of this light stood a young woman.
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