‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. But she made no answer. Go on. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he would not change his mind and take another route.
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