The subterranean level of the Diedermayer house was fully bedecked with every luxury known to mankind. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti. Enter the house with your men.
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