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The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. Nothing ensued. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. “This is not every day. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. ” “You have no right at all,” she answered. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs.
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