‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ” “I am your friend,” he said slowly, “whatever you may have to tell me. “What a little brick!” he murmured. No, don’t let me call myself that. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer.
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