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It was empty. ” “I feel—All this is the rightest of all conceivable things. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said, striving to control the quiver in her voice. It could not be she who had done this. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself.
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