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His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. So, you see—’ ‘Do not say any more,’ Melusine uttered, flinging away and moving to the fireplace. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. “Let me see,” he said.
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