’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. Vorsack echoed him. .
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