It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his.
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