” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. Never be downhearted. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. What he told the vicomte I was not privileged to learn. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned.
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