’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. We're lost. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. ’ Melusine had to bite her lip to stop herself from interfering as, under Trodger’s direction, the two militiamen gave up their muskets into his keeping and lifted Jack.
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