” She murmured. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly asleep. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks.
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