He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded.
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