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The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. Anything that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. In the early hours of the morning, unable to bear the suspense any longer, Melusine had ventured to explore the mansion, the lantern she had brought in hand, commenting to herself all the time on the state of the place and the difficulties of her task, and having no idea of the consequences she was bringing on herself thereby.
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