What do you mean by it, eh?’ ‘But I did not send it to you,’ Melusine rejoined instantly. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false.
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