‘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. It was eleven o'clock. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. “A claim,” he continued, “which I am quite prepared to recognize.
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