There was a strained, eager expression on his face. I need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand. Her little white hand stole across the table. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Melusine, I’ve remembered something that may help you.
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