She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. ’ She shook her head sadly. The area was sparsely populated. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Spurlock mused over the previous night. ’ ‘Ah, so that’s where Valade comes in,’ nodded Lucy.
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