The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. It has been said, that the pier of each arch, or lock of Old London Bridge, was defended from the force of the tide by a huge projecting spur called a starling. ‘Parbleu,’ came indignantly from the lady.
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