The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. The second look told me I was wrong. “The twins were left with his sister, Cris. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. Perhaps I am still mad. I hope that you did not permit her to feed?” “But I did! I did!” She sobbed.
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