Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. "You were no doubt surprised by the unlooked-for intelligence I sent you of your nephew's return?" "Was it unlooked-for on your part?" demanded the knight, distrustfully. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers.
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