‘And if it was not for that imbecile of a Gérard, who has put his soldiers to watch for me, it would not need that I make it. He hated the taste of it. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. You're on the way to big things. And the woollen-draper departed. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. “John,” she said, “I can spare you that question.
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