She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other.
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