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He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. It was Blueskin. Melusine tapped on it. “Will you come in, Sir John. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor. Thank goodness you’ll understand. The poor fellow's half smothered. ” “You may be sure of the one,” she murmured.
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