A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. ‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. He had died before they married, and when her brother became a widower she had come to his assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest daughter. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. If one wants a thing very much, perhaps one is inclined to think one can’t have it.
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