He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. Here he obtained some breakfast, and mounting the hill turned off into the fields on the right. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail.
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