He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. . ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. . ‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’ Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. And they’ll shut the gates presently.
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