‘Nothing. ’ ‘You,’ announced the lady, throwing an explosive glare at the captain, ‘are a person entirely without sense. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. The Reaper is not sated yet. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour.
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