The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it.
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