207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Mrs. Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. I am absolutely certain that up to the present we have escaped all notice, and I do not believe that any casual observer would take us for English people. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. ” “But you,” she exclaimed, “you are not coming.
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