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’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. ’ Melusine spread her hands and sighed. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. She did not forge a note.
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