But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. “Showtime!” Martin cried.
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