The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. "What was it?" He was insistent. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park.
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