“Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. Melusine dashed them away, but they kept on coming. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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