’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. But one of these days everything will click back into place.
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