Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep.
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