She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. ‘Would you like me to enquire for your mystery lady, Gerald? I know the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme quite well. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling.
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