She had heard the trader utter it many times. In the early hours of the morning, unable to bear the suspense any longer, Melusine had ventured to explore the mansion, the lantern she had brought in hand, commenting to herself all the time on the state of the place and the difficulties of her task, and having no idea of the consequences she was bringing on herself thereby. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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