I’ll mention it. She felt that she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what was the matter with her. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. You go home and live on the G. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured.
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