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“He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. “I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style. His eyes were set too close together. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol.
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