And what do you say about them?
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I say they sometimes attached themselves to very clever women! I answered, laughing. I spoke with great deliberation, but as my words fell upon the air they struck me as imprudent. However, I risked them and I was not sorry, for perhaps after all the old woman would be willing to treat. It seemed to be tolerably obvious that she knew my secret: why therefore drag the matter out? But she did not take what I had said as a confession; she only asked:
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Do you think it's right to rake up the past?
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I don't know that I know what you mean by raking it up; but how can we get at it unless we dig a little? The present has such a rough way of treading it down.
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Oh, I like the past, but I don't like critics, the old woman declared, with her fine tranquillity.
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Neither do I, but I like their discoveries.
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The lies are what they sometimes discover, I said, smiling at the quiet impertinence of this. They often lay bare the truth.
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The truth is God's, it isn't man's; we had better leave it alone. Who can judge of itwho can say?
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We are terribly in the dark, I know, I admitted; but if we give up trying what becomes of all the fine things? What becomes of the work I just mentioned, that of the great philosophers and poets? It is all vain words if there is nothing to measure it by.
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You talk as if you were a tailor, said Miss Bordereau, whimsically; and then she added quickly, in a different manner, This house is very fine; the proportions are magnificent. To-day I wanted to look at this place again. I made them bring me out here. When your man came, just now, to learn if I would see you, I was on the point of sending for you, to ask if you didn't mean to go on. I wanted to judge what I'm letting you have. This sala is very grand, she pursued, like an auctioneer, moving a little, as I guessed, her invisible eyes. I don't believe you often have lived in such a house, eh?
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I can't often afford to! I said.
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Well then, how much will you give for six months?
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I was on the point of exclaimingand the air of excru-
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