Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth.
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