Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. ‘Come on. In a flash, Melusine had jumped forward and clamped it to the floor with one booted foot. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Lucy sized up the girl.
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