He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. She shuddered. She had come to the end of her resources. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. ‘I am not French in the least, bête. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite.
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