Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailable bachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparative immunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he had been brought into contact. ‘I do not remember the name,’ Melusine said, turning to Mrs Ibstock. ‘That is good. She loves you too well for that.
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