‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. What could I do?’ ‘Anything but to bring him to me,’ Melusine threw at him. He would pull this young fellow back; but later he knew that he would have to fight the boy's lack of will to live. I will dedicate my books to you.
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