’ 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. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. They chatted pleasantly as he drove around the neighborhood for a half an hour, then stopped by the Diedermayer house. She stood without motion and without strength.
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