The Comte de Reynaud was sitting in his study, studying historical books. Despite the late hour, he couldn't sleep. Since his wife left, he hasn't eaten well and hasn't slept well. He tried to distract himself from the loneliness destroying him in books. At least a little, but it helped him, it distracted him. He was so carried away that he didn't even notice his wife came into the office. He froze, it seems, he was even afraid to breathe. Reynaud didn't know what to say.

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