They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. Come now, I am very glad to see you again so soon, mademoiselle whatever-your-name-is. This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. . I’m not sure if Janine cared.
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