” His walk became a jovial saunter. “Dear me!” he said. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. Let's get one idea into our heads.
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