’ 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. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary.
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