’ ‘But what age are you? Do you not require an heir?’ Melusine asked, her tone shocked. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. "What for?" demanded Wood. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. A small voice greeted her, hissing.
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