I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. People shrug their shoulders and call me a crazy socialist.
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