Gosse had come to Blaye, so he had said, feeling it his duty as the vicomte’s erstwhile secretary to deliver the fateful tidings, bringing with him one of the servant girls, Yolande, who had also escaped the fury of the mob. I've sent for the priest. ‘You have no need to be afraid of us. Most of the mob were armed with pikes, staves, swords, muskets, and other weapons, and offered a most desperate resistance to the soldiery, whom they drove back with a shower of paving-stones. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. ‘That’s my pet name.
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