You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. You are the High Priestess of Life. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. “Wise! Kind! What mockery words are! I came because I had to. .
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