‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began. Lucy was silent. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. “I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out. I tell you this child would have been strangled.
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