“That’s what you’re going to wear. Always as black and bitter as gall. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. " There was a brief, breathless pause. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. ” Part 4 They lay side by side in a shallow nest of turf and mosses among bowlders and stunted bushes on a high rock, and watched the day sky deepen to evening between the vast precipices overhead and looked over the tree-tops down the widening gorge. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course.
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