The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. " Darrell's attention was drawn to the latter part of this speech by a slight pressure on his foot. .
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