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“This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. ’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. Spurlock slept on. " The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her.
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