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Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. They stood back together and stared at it. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house.
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