Monsieur Charvill, he has not the means to choose different. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three.
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