’ Melusine’s heart leapt, and as swiftly clattered into dead stillness as the implication of the second name hit home. She was still good at following orders. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims.
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