But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. ‘What’s this? Impertinence! French manners, is it?’ ‘Grace à vous,’ Melusine threw at him fiercely. Hastening in the direction of the sound, he discovered Thames Darrell, stretched upon the ground.
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