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No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. “I am going to ask for your forgiveness. But it would be too risky. Remember?’ ‘Parbleu,’ came from his still struggling victim. But there was only Gosse, still struggling with the picture, looking dazedly towards Melusine and the lad he had shot, then away towards the sounds of pursuit, and back again. Their faces had bite marks that were hers.
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