‘You will not guess again?’ ‘No, no, I am quite out of ideas. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room.
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