” A flush of excitement crept into her cheeks. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. Who she is I have not discovered, but she is masquerading as Melusine, and for all I know, is not even married to the man who calls himself Valade. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Gerald shook his head. Her little white hand stole across the table. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack.
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