He walked with bent head. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. Muffling up his face, Jack turned away; but he had not proceeded many steps when he heard a man reading aloud an account of his escapes from a newspaper. That would be an unkind twist of fate.
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