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” Sebastian slipped the piano wire around her throat, silencing her immediately. And the sergeant, having carried out all Melusine’s instructions as if they had come out of his own head, went up to check on his patient, apparently at last convinced that his prisoner would not attempt to run away. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. Do you live here?" "Not exactly," answered the carpenter. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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