It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. And, if you hear any odd noise in the parlour, don't mind it. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely.
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