CHAPTER XVIII. ’ Melusine was beginning to fill with dread and a burgeoning of anger as the meaning behind his words began to penetrate. The sword, Jacques. You steered and I rowed stroke. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing.
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