“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. What she said is true. ” “How?” He asked. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. ’ He sighed, spread his hands quite in her own manner, and fluttered his lashes. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down.
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