She began to weep in long, aching sobs. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she’s my wife, and I’ve got the certificate in my pocket. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side.
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