It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Something in his tone pinched her heart. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. ‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling.
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