‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck.
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