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’ Both hands about the butt of her unwieldy pistol, Melusine glared at him. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. “There are a good many Whites in London. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. ‘What are you going to do now, child?’ Melusine sighed away the last of her distress. ’ ‘Grossly unfair, too.
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