She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. So he decided to stay. Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower vanished. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie.
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