‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. There would be no moon. He would certainly welcome McClintock's advent. Then she reverted to the trousers. But these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive.
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