“I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. You understand me, Charcoal. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. Spurling, half aside. He smiled. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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