She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. ‘If the boy had sense enough to send word to Gerald as he was told to do, then God be praised!’ ‘Parbleu,’ broke from Melusine, as she turned on him instead. On examining the door, he found it secured by a large rusty lock, which he endeavoured to pick with the nail he had just acquired; but all his efforts proving ineffectual, he removed the plate that covered it with the bar, and with his fingers contrived to draw back the bolt. Nigel Ennison was he. At last he could bear it no longer.
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