Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ” “That is another French custom,” he remarked, “which is not so agreeable. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. There was no one else in the doorway. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city.
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