” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. Fire; she was full of it. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. Shortly a man descended laboriously. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. She looked at him gravely and squinted. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true.
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