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Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. But on arriving in the tattered saloon where he and Melusine had hidden, a shock awaited Gerald. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back.
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