She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. ” “Do what?” “Oh!—anything. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day. Paris is not the place for two young girls.
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