She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. He was silent. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. Her disapproval was obvious enough. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris.
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