‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. ‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure.
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