She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. But I liked to say it. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. “Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. My will never faltered.
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