“Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. ‘Damnation! Too late. I came to see you on my own account. “I have never seen him in my life,” she said to the official. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. Oh God! my limbs fail me. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette.
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