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From out the bowl there was stealing a perfume which overmastered his will and led him captive to the lugubrious glade of the Druids.... Comme d'autres esprits voguent sur la musique, Le míen, ô mon amour! nage sur ton parfum. He was not dreaming, for he saw the woman at the bowl, saw her apartment. But the interior of his brain was as melancholy as a lighted cathedral.
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