“I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. “I am already so hungry that I shall begin on the petit pains. You're luck. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Paris is not the place for two young girls. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found.
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