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He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “No, no,” she cried. She found a little difficulty in beginning. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. .
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