What's it like, Joan?" "It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. Melusine saw fire in his eyes and a streak of heat rushed through her to match it. ‘Not but what it was near that before Jarvis died.
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