The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention. I knew where I would go next: Florence. 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 books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. I'll wait here. He laughed. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside.
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