He stepped out but, rather to his surprise, found Melusine following him. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. He cherished her.
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