If you don't conquer this disgraceful propensity in time, you'll soon come to want; and then nothing can save you. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe.
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