An unhappy little sigh escaped her. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. There was no one to be seen. Bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment. ‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left them.
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