The boy’s besotted. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. “One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and the beautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. ” John said. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer.
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