A species of vertigo seized him. Good words, without deeds, are rushes and reeds. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. This she put into the trunk. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks.
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