You don’t deserve it, but he does. Diving towards it, he tried to press against the rivulet that was seeping from it, hampered mightily by Melusine’s fingers, which were grasping at his other hand. This won’t do. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. . ’ ‘Are we to infer that he had a choice?’ enquired Gerald. Decidedly this was imbecile. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez.
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