This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. She was, by certain signs, charged with anger, but she saw upon the faces of these two young fools the look of angels and an ineffable kindness breathed upon her withered heart. The world is like a peppery horse. She sat perfectly still, however. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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