"Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. ’ Speeding down the two flights of stairs, Gerald mentally thanked God that it was the practice of himself and Roding—in case of emergency, of which this was a prime example—to stable their horses at the posting inns all the way to London. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. ‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble.
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