“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. ” She took his hand, interrupting him. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other.
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