A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward. "'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. You must know that. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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