‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. Let me go, Sir. . ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. “If I do,” he said. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane.
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