At Anna’s words she seemed suddenly to stiffen. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. ‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began. None this end. But it is not your name. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword.
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