I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. “No!” she exclaimed. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding.
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