He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. ‘Does Charvill know that this Melusine of yours is here?’ The question distracted Gerald. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. ‘Very well, never mind. ‘Wait! No time for that.
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