‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. “He says you are frigid, Madame.
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