“Well, you know. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. " "What does it signify?" returned the latter, angrily. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages.
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