Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself. ‘So I shall do so. ’ ‘Why should Gérard care?’ sneered Gosse. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley.
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