“I have given it up,” she answered. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. The Night-Cellar.
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