The inn was a military haunt. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. It was now a quarter past twelve. ‘He’s already spoken for, Melusine. I—listen. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. . It was a haunted place. Next instant, Melusine’s blade sank into Gosse’s flesh.
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