It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. Nothing can alter my determination. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man.
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