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” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. But threats and entreaties—even promises were ineffectual; and the unlucky captive, after exhausting his powers of persuasion, was compelled to give up the point. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. Impelled by a feeling, into which we shall not pause to inquire, the stranger started after them; but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him. “Hey you,” he said affectionately. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. —BRENDON. "You poor child!" said Prudence.
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