Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. No, don’t let me call myself that. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. I will come later to see you, Melusine.
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