’ 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. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. “Forgive you, indeed. It is safe. " "Did you discover any trace of footsteps?" inquired Jack eagerly. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside.
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