Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. ‘Lay him down on a sofa,’ Melusine said, coming out behind them and moving towards the antechamber. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago.
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