As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. At noon the doctor himself arrived. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. ‘I try to be. Glorious! The Pastoral. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. .
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