“I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower.
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