By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. IX. ’ Tears sprang to Melusine’s own eyes, and she clasped the hand she held more tightly. . . Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. The swelling in his limbs had also subsided.
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