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Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. ’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury. . He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. “Will he die?” she asked.
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