’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. Now then. I’m turning into a big fat cow. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Teddy went round by the garden backs and dropped the bag over the fence. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister.
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