Gerald seized Melusine by the hand and drew her towards the stairs, throwing a command at Kimble as he did so. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. . ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. ’ Melusine threw her hands in the air. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent.
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