. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. As Melusine approached the door, she saw Kimble speed up. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. "He must have gone this way," muttered Blueskin.
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