Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. Melusine dashed them away, but they kept on coming. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Not up here, I think. Just beyond there would be her heart's desire. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. ’ ‘With ease, mademoiselle,’ he countered, catching her blade. He had to know the truth, Melusine.
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