And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall.
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