I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. ’ ‘Do not hope it,’ returned Melusine, snapping uncontrollably. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. ‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine.
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