He looked no longer at his wife. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. They seemed to her that morning to be all armed with nets and prepared to throw them over her directly her movements became in any manner truly free. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper.
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