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Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. " "Horror!" cried Jack. “Yes.
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