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Then she turned, and Frowenfeld put out one strong arm, helped her to a sitting posture on the side of the bed and drew the shawl about her. "Zizi," she said, and the negress, who had stood perfectly still since depositing the water and bandages, came forward and proceeded to bare the philosophe's superb shoulder.
As he arrived in the philosophe's sick-chamber where he found her sitting in a chair set well back from a small fire she half-whispered "Miché" with a fine, greeting smile, as if to a brother after a week's absence.
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