" On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome.
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