But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Then go and fetch this daughter of yourn.
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