Nigel Ennison was he. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. He has had brain fever since, and, as you say, I am more like what you were then than you yourself are now. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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