’ ‘Is it, now? Well you won’t, then, for he won’t hear nothing, missie. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on.
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