She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. Monsieur Charvill, he has not the means to choose different. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet.
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