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. You’re a lady. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest.
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