consciously, been haunting her, like St-George or St-Denis appeared to Jeanne d'Arc; and like all hysterical saints given to hallucinations, Sebastian now was visible to her as clearly as if he stood there in tangible flesh.
As she gazed upon this beatific vision she saw that the likeness of the vagrant mixed itself up with that of the martyr, and that he was not only palpitating but even panting with lusty life.
Not a wound was to be seen on his sinewy, stout and smooth body, but moreover, the small strip of stuff wound around his loins had disappeared, and his right hand held that holy-water sprinkler which bountiful nature had so generously provided him with, and he brandled it lustily, nay even with more than holy delight.
Now, whether it was the sight of the saint's quaint gill-like appendage of manhood, or the way he so funnily toyed with it—just as she had once seen a monkey do at the show—or else the knowing wink he cast upon her, but somehow or other the girl—as she was lying on her bed—was, all at
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