There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. " "The pianist?" "Yes. The man was my husband. You have betrayed me. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. Stood on his dignity and shut us up in great style. And here, we may be permitted to offer an observation upon the peculiar and unaccountable influence which ladies of a shrewish turn so frequently exercise over—we can scarcely, in this case, say—their lords and masters; an influence which seems not merely to extend to the will of the husband, but even to his inclinations.
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