" "A white wall is a fool's paper, Jack,—remember that," rejoined Wood. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. My late husband, I mean. ‘Thanks to him, Hilary and I nearly had our heads blown off. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. More,’ he said, ‘but I’m told it’s the most amusing thing in London at the present time. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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