Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. So she married him. The G. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines.
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