‘I do not need for you to tell me this. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it.
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