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Updated: June 25, 2025
There was no jealousy in the Cure; he smiled at the scene with great benevolence, for he was as a brother to Monsieur Garon.
The next afternoon the Avocat visited old Farette. Farette was polishing a gun, mumbling the while. Sitting on some bags of meal was Parpon, with a fierce twinkle in his eye. Monsieur Garon told Farette briefly what the Seigneur had left him. With a quick, greedy chuckle Farette threw the gun away. "Man alive!" said he; "tell me all about it. Ah, the good news!"
"We shall soon know who is to live here. See, there is Monsieur Garon, and Monsieur Medallion also." "The Avocat to tell secrets, the auctioneer to sell them eh?" Armand went forward to the gate. Like most people, he found Medallion interesting, and the Avocat and he were old friends.
IV. The next afternoon the Avocat visited old Farette. Farette was polishing a gun, mumbling the while. Sitting on some bags of meal was Parpon, with a fierce twinkle in his eye. Monsieur Garon told Farette briefly what the Seigneur had left him. With a quick, greedy chuckle Farette threw the gun away. "Man alive!" said he; "tell me all about it. Ah, the good news!"
There was no jealousy in the Cure; he smiled at the scene with great benevolence, for he was as a brother to Monsieur Garon.
Strange how, in spite of all evidence against him, she still felt a vital sureness in him somewhere; a radical reality, a convincing quality of presence. At times he seemed like an actor playing his own character. She could never quite get rid of that feeling. In her anxiety for she was in the affair for good or ill she went again to Monsieur Garon.
As soon as Garon had said them, Medallion's lanky body followed his face, and in a moment he had the Avocat's hand in his, swallowing it, of purpose crushing it, so that Monsieur Garon waked up smartly and gave his visitor a pensive smile. Medallion's cheerful nervous vitality seldom failed to inspire whom he chose to inspire with Something of his own life and cheerfulness.
There was silence in the church for a moment, and many faces meanwhile turned instinctively to M. Garon the Avocat, and some to the Little Chemist. "Who will go?" asked the Cure again. "It is a bitter journey, but our pride must not be our shame in the end. Who will go?"
What's he lying betune the quilts now fur, but by token of the bad heart in him! It's a wicked could he has, an' how did he come by it? I'll tell ye, Misther Garon.
After she had handed over the receipt prepared beforehand by Kilquhanity, she replied to M. Garon's inquiry concerning her husband in these words: "Misther Garon, sir, such a man it is enough to break the heart of anny woman. And the timper of him Misther Garon, the timper of him's that awful, awful! No conshideration, and that ugly-hearted, got whin a soldier b'y!
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