“You must not think of me as one. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. "Lost no time on the road—eh!—I didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. You're luck. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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