It’s just life, pure life, life nascent, running clear and strong. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide.
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