Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. ‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. Ten days should see you on your feet. It was the grand nursery of vice. The boy she had loved was gone. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators.
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