’ 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. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. After quarter of an hour, she followed.
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