Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin.
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