Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it. She glared at him with satisfaction. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm wavered. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side.
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