Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. “You are very good,” she said. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise. It is Thérèse. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters.
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