The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. But it was under false names, so I dare say it ain’t valid.
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