Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. ‘Couldn’t reconcile it with my dooty to leave you here—’ A thought made Melusine stop dead, turning to him. Mike was showing his territorial instincts, brought out by the fact that he was drunk. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. This fall saved him, for the horsemen passed over him.
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