‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. . ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. Locked! He sped out to the corridor and went swiftly into the next room.
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