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The beautiful life is always damned, they say. As for you, you've
overexpended yourself: fifteen years of prominence, champagne,
carriage rides in the Tuileries, having your name whispered behind
manicured hands, getting elegant ladies out of elegant fixes -
and you're in debt. Bound by oath and honor to a pack of scoundrels.
Your father, old peasant that he was, could have warned you against
their type.