’ ‘No, and I do not wish to do so,’ Melusine pointed out. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. In a sense I don’t care. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her.
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