I knew it. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. A white man takes his life in his hands. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. I rarely set foot in London these days. A few minutes later Sir John left the room. ’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all.
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