"In the first place, she had no knowledge of her birth; and, consequently, no false pride to get rid of. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. It’s just that I want to say. And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. She wanted him, she needed sex, but the two ideas had not formed an equation where a concrete result could be deduced. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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