’ ‘Melusine,’ repeated the old lady. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. He gave you a poison. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. ‘So it was. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom.
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