’ ‘But I have still a dagger,’ Melusine warned. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. She could still feel his psychic presence all around her, and she knew he was thinking of her.
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