“Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course.
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