“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. ‘Alors, I see how is this. She had heard the trader utter it many times. All this torrent of misleading, spurious stuff that pours from the press. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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