For I still love her mother. So it is that I do not do these things. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. I'll forgive him if he does. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French.
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