Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. E. ’” “Is ‘Alcide’ still in Paris?” Ennison asked. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said.
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