"Hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. ‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine.
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