"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. “But your sister,” he said. “You may call anytime. Melusine saw fire in his eyes and a streak of heat rushed through her to match it. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven.
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