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” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. “Monsieur admires the poster?” As a rule Sir John treated such advances with cold silence. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness.
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