Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know.
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