She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. "Been to those places?" "No. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands.
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