A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand. ‘How the deuce did she get out without me seeing her?’ ‘Took advantage of the distraction, cunning little devil,’ Gerald snapped, racing down the corridor.
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