” “I wonder,” said Mr. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. He cocked an eyebrow. Nor Jacques. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. Moreover, atrociously and inexorably, he allowed it to appear ever and again in horrible gleams that he suspected there was some man in the case.
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