“Poor old Alice!” Her brother Roddy came to her and demanded tea, and asked her to state a case. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. ‘Deaf? Deaf? I’ll have you know, miss—’ ‘Do not have me know anything,’ interrupted Melusine crossly, and digging into her habit, produced the fateful dagger that had cut Gerald’s hand.
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