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The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. “Cut her throat!” Sebastian snapped. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. ‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction. Diving towards it, he tried to press against the rivulet that was seeping from it, hampered mightily by Melusine’s fingers, which were grasping at his other hand. And experience was slow in coming.
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