A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. Jack turned away with an aching heart. Look at it, I say. He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay. ‘Deaf? Deaf? I’ll have you know, miss—’ ‘Do not have me know anything,’ interrupted Melusine crossly, and digging into her habit, produced the fateful dagger that had cut Gerald’s hand. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes.
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