The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. He turned to her and pinned her against the headrest with his kisses. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. The reply he received this time put him into a state of continuous bewilderment. You called yourself a murderess.
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