" "Did you discover any trace of footsteps?" inquired Jack eagerly. "I don't think that's likely. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. ’ Her lashes fluttered. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks.
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