‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Return, I implore of you, to your master,—to Mr. ’ The girl bit her lip and backed a little, while her husband shifted to stand at her side. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. We fixed that. ‘This is not love, Marthe.
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