Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

11. Chapter XI (continued)

'Glaucus,' she murmured, 'all the love-charms of the wildest magic could not make thee love me as I love thee. Ione!--ah; away hesitation! away remorse! Glaucus, my fate is in thy smile; and thine! hope! O joy! O transport, thy fate is in these hands!'

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