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"Take him to the bilbowes. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci. Mon cher major, Melusine began. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference.
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