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?‰mile, 1836-1873

"The Widow Lerouge"

It is the surest and easiest method. This was the course
M. Daburon adopted, all the time cursing Gevrol's absence, as he by a
single word could have shortened by a good half the examination, the
importance of which, by the way, the magistrate did not even suspect.
"In what intrigues did your wife mingle?" asked he. "Go on, my friend,
tell me everything exactly; here, you know, we must have not only the
truth, but the whole truth."
Lerouge placed his hat on a chair. Then he began alternately to pull
his fingers, making them crack almost sufficiently to break them, and
ultimately scratched his head violently. It was his way of arranging his
ideas.
"I must tell you," he began, "that it will be thirty-five years on St.
John's day since I fell in love with Claudine. She was a pretty, neat,
fascinating girl, with a voice sweeter than honey. She was the most
beautiful girl in our part of the country, straight as a mast, supple as
a willow, graceful and strong as a racing boat. Her eyes sparkled like
old cider; her hair was black, her teeth as white as pearls, and her
breath was as fresh as the sea breeze. The misfortune was, that she
hadn't a sou, while we were in easy circumstances.


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