This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. "I'll tell you why," he said. ‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. He took about five minutes. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them.
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