At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. “Lord!” she said. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. In a second the glass lay shattered upon the carpet. She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. That you are not Valade at all, and that I am Melusine Charvill, the granddaughter of monsieur le baron, the general. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature.
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