In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. It’s my other side of the moon. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. ’ ‘Emile Gosse,’ Melusine said flatly, in the same language.
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