‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. I am very good at guessing names. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude.
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