‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. ” She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men.
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