"Intruding!" echoed Mrs. “I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. I have been imaging—” “Mr. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. He sent me home. . Of course, at home there would have been questions. "How is Mr.
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