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’ ‘Emile Gosse,’ Melusine said flatly, in the same language. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown.
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