‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. ‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. “He seems like such a nice boy. But you had better know the truth to start with. When I found you, you were almost completely insane. 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. But I will never—never return.
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