It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe. ’ Before she could object, Melusine found herself hustled back into the house and dragged willy-nilly towards the library door, where Jack called softly. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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