They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. He filled his pipe slowly. “She doesn’t know. ‘Gérard is not mad, only of a disposition entirely interfering. " There was a momentary and terrible silence, broken only by a few feeble groans. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write.
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