‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. ‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker.
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