But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. ‘Now then, my girl, why the long face?’ Melusine had no hesitation in placing her trouble before her old nurse, for it was Martha who had made her aware of her true history. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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