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The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. ruin you. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. Later, she would sew it on. She makes catty comments about you to her friends if you are within hearing distance—that’s her thing—then if you are brave enough to confront her, she just denies it all and laughs at you. Aralarındaki ilişki, aşka dönüştü ve ikisi de mutlu bir hayat sürdüler.
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