In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. After all, I fancy that I shall have to apply for a situation as a nursery governess who understands French. “Mrs. I’ll come and see you again later on. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside.
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