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“I must go. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. " "And why not?" asked Kneebone, eagerly.
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