” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. Melusine sighed with frustration. Yet you knew that I was not dead. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation.
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