‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. He's a nice boy, a good student. In truth, she liked Gerald also.
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