“He fell over at my feet,” she continued. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. The chair was torture. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. But the sheer tenacity of the girl defeated him. She was poor.
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