Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. He looked fiercely and inquiringly from one to the other of his companions; but, though both of them were excessively frightened, neither appeared guilty. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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