Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. Hugging him in the beautiful dress in front of the teenagers was strangely soothing to her. They set about everyone—everyone. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. Gerald switched to French.
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