She came into the room. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. But Darrell averted his head. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. It’s to do with adolescence. ‘You are, I think, a gentleman, no?’ Gerald bowed.
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