The wings stopped. ‘Me, I have a name. Wood. ‘Do not speak any more for you give yourself pain,’ said Melusine fearfully. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened.
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