‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said, striving to control the quiver in her voice. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her.
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