” “This,” Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, “reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. " Then he became merciful. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. ‘You talk together of me as if I am not there. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth.
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