Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. Stop it. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery. Bête, she told herself fiercely. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times.
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