It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. I cannot do it, David. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. ‘And that Suzanne, the sister of my cousin the vicomte, must choose between Monsieur Charvill and her brother.
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