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"Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. "If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth. ‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel.
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