His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. ‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living.
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