82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. He was no longer in military uniform, and it was evident from his suit of brown brocade that he had been disturbed while preparing for an evening engagement. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back. But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was Suzanne Valade. ” “I didn’t mind that little argument. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp.
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