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But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack. Diving towards it, he tried to press against the rivulet that was seeping from it, hampered mightily by Melusine’s fingers, which were grasping at his other hand. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world. Winny, my love, come with me. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
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