She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. “I must go. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him.
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