‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. 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. ‘Well, I can see you won’t let it alone, so what do you propose to do about the wench?’ ‘I’ll die before I let it alone,’ Gerald vowed. " "I'll never understand.
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