She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. ‘Parbleu, do you think he will run away? He has a bullet inside him, and it must be taken out.
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