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All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. Chapter Eight For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. "The part was crooked," she explained. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table.
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