My father died a year ago, by the way. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. ” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. She was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh.
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