“I am sick of it. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. She was still good at following orders. She was a swan among geese, trying to look plain and dowdy. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue.
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