The man looked hard at him. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. 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. She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. You may go back, Marthe.
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