He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption.
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