‘Bête,’ she flung at him. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. Disperse in every direction. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. good, miss. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent.
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