“We are so interested to hear, Miss Pellissier,” she said, “that you have been living in Paris. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. And the woollen-draper departed. You went even to our rooms and saw my sister.
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