’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. . Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock.
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