“And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory.
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