All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. “Yes. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. "But, if I should not return, take this purse to Edgeworth Bess.
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