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She proffered her neck towards him. She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. But calmer thoughts quickly succeeded. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. ’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped.
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