Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. ‘Major, sir!’ The major appeared so swiftly that Melusine was instantly suspicious. She had come to the end of her resources. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken.
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