In a moment he was beside her. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. Gerald, whose French was adequate from his military service abroad, was able to respond suitably to such remarks as the ladies addressed to him, but was less exercised by their fashionable dress than their decidedly careworn appearance. She reflected before answering. John’s demeanor shifted. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. Like the Valades, I imagine.
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