“You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. I speak frankly, because you also know that no possible extremity would induce me to accept help from any living person. 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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