The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. “I’m fine,” she said softly. The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand. Eric Vorsack still toiled at work. ‘You mean that there is a rival Melusine to the one he has heard about? He does not.
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