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“My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least. “With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. I swear to you, solemnly swear to you, I will save your son's life, nay more, will befriend him, will place him out of the reach of his enemies, if you consent to become my wife. ’ There was no denial in Martha’s face, though Melusine longed to hear her words contradicted.
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