" She paused. The porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered him to take care of the horses. ’ ‘Truly?’ Melusine said excitedly. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word.
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