That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. "You may die afterwards as soon as you please," retorted Jonathan; "but live till then you shall. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. Let him be sure.
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