“Will you come in, Sir John. . “Very funny. “I’ll have to pay it. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. "I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said. For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging so that he backed up onto the dais. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered.
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