At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. ‘Pig, miss?’ ‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently.
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