He will not help them—and I told Emile so—and thus he sends them to my other grandpére, even that he knows he is dead. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. The poor fellow's half smothered. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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