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Excerpt from Armande
Il n'est que les maisons de petite ville pour dormir ainsi. Bêtes et gens. Tout est couché. Langon est mort. Seule, une petite fenêtre luit, où un grand bonnet de coton se détache sur la lumière. La dame regarde tour à tour les deux caisses posées à côté d'elle, et le bonnet de coton qui ne bouge.
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