Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. But through the fault of that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her birthright.
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