’ Melusine glared. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. Traps, set with peculiar cunning; she had encountered them everywhere. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. “Bother!” and decided that this was not so, and would not look to right or left again. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead.
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