’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. "And now, I've one further request," faltered Jack; "though I scarcely know how to make it. " "The pianist?" "Yes.
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