"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging so that he backed up onto the dais.
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