’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. This information was received by Jonathan with a lowering brow. The last observation, however, caught the attention of the carpenter's wife.
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