“I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. No; she'd never go back. ‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. . .
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