‘That is very sensible, mon capitaine. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours. ’ 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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