’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. “John, I’m so hungry. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares.
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