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Melusine saw fire in his eyes and a streak of heat rushed through her to match it. Gregory B. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. "Rot, weren't they?" "No. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me.
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