A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Melusine feigned a displeased frown.
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