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“Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. What could I do?’ ‘Anything but to bring him to me,’ Melusine threw at him. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street.
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