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"I liked it much, Monsieur; with the steps ascending to the door, the grey flags in front, the nodding trees behind real trees, not shrubs trees dark, high, and of old growth. And the boudoir-oratoire you should make that room your study; it is so quiet and solemn." He eyed me closely; he half-smiled, half-coloured. "Where did you pick up all that? Who told you?" he asked. "Nobody told me.
She was grey, and her apron, and her dress, and her kerchief, and her hands and her face were all sun-bleached and sun-stained, greyey, bluey, browny, like stones and half-coloured leaves, sunny in their colourlessness. In my black coat, I felt myself wrong, false, an outsider. She was spinning, spontaneously, like a little wind.
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