She was honest again. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. But one of these days everything will click back into place. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. . Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage.
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