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Melusine did not pause, but reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and lift it. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp.
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