‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. ’ ‘But—’ ‘You’ll get her all over blood again. . I shall want you. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. In a second the glass lay shattered upon the carpet. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper.
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