’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. “I may be leaving where I am in a few days, so very likely you will be no better off. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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