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She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. Here was one that subtly mocked her. Stay! I'll go myself. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. I shouldn't care to have attention constantly drawn to us. ‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance.
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