“No, not that I know of,” Michelle replied, her still eyes not meeting Lucy’s. “It was perhaps my fault. I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much. They fell in a diapason of smashes. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom.
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