Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. "He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so. “For my own part I have come fully now into my inheritance. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. “Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly.
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