Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. Stanley. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her.
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