‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. At least here she was safe. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once.
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