He left his companion in the midst of a glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess as she moved from one group to join another. I should have thought my note cleared up everything. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. But I expect him back every minute. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Only she is not Madame Valade at all.
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