Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. “I wish you didn’t. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional. “But your sister,” he said.
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