Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. ‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this. I shall only pray that I may reward you for all your goodness to me. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. I never saw a man who wasn't. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. ‘When one is penniless, one does not expect a life of ease.
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