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Melusine ran up the stairway after him, her point flailing to frighten him into allowing her access to the chapel. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. "Much that I would willingly forget.
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