” “Why not? Your spirits at least should be good. "I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant.
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