Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. Escape was now impossible.
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