"I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. ‘Do not be imbecile. We dressed it in a little music. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. Paris is not the place for two young girls.
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