Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. ’ She counted off on her fingers. “I know. ‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. She could not see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed impossible. .
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