Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. Enough to let her find out a piece of information most urgent. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise.
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