‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. ” She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they both stood still. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it.
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