John looked at his feet bashfully. . ’ ‘But you are not a surgeon,’ protested Melusine. And, if I can render you any service, you may command me. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. Give me your hand.
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