’ Melusine sobered, sitting down again. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. With the immediate necessities in train, Melusine fell to brooding on her situation, which she found insupportable. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose.
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