’ Jack Kimble took a deep breath. ’ Both hands about the butt of her unwieldy pistol, Melusine glared at him. This year—I’ve got it badly. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere.
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