“We are so interested to hear, Miss Pellissier,” she said, “that you have been living in Paris. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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