Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Sir John hesitated. It was horrible, but she must do it. It was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it.
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