’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me. John has made me so happy, I’ve been losing myself in him. My father died a year ago, by the way.
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