" She departed reluctantly. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. He was in front of one of the more imposing of the cafés chantants—opposite, illuminated with a whole row of lights, was the wonderful poster which had helped to make ‘Alcide’ famous. They would arrive sometime in June. You don’t have to live forever to understand that. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness.
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