She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. This time, there was no doubt, she did not sleep. What he told the vicomte I was not privileged to learn.
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