"But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. Mr. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. Jonathan is capable of anything.
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