didn’t have to. Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name.
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