‘And you!’ shrieked Melusine. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. “Lucy, that is so sad. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours. . ’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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