I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. . " "Irons—heavy irons—night and day. She met him by the dugout after the game. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. ” She threw away the end of her cigarette. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction.
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