’ Melusine remembered a thin man of sour aspect, living—like her father and his wife Suzanne—off the vicomte’s bounty. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. So overjoyed was the carpenter with the successful issue of his undertaking, that he scarcely paused a moment to recruit himself; but, securing the child, set out upon his return. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child.
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