But they were too late. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. ‘Here were you patiently waiting, without uttering one word of complaint the entire time, which of course you never do, being yourself a female altogether of a disposition extremely sweet and charming without the least vestige of a temper—’ ‘Gérard,’ Melusine uttered on a warning note, desperately trying to control the quiver at her lip.
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