"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. Blood, they say, won't come out. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.
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