Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. I want to leave Paris to-day—this very day.
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