’ Melusine edged a little away from the portrait. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. "What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. .
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