If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty.
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