It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. ” “You are at least aware,” he said, “that you have on several recent occasions acted in direct opposition to my wishes. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. But not so much a pig as that man. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless.
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