” “This,” Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, “reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. He laughed reassuringly. Only she is not Madame Valade at all.
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