’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world.
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