The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. ‘As to Gérard, I do not know why he does this. Before you know where you are you find yourself in a complication. It was so difficult to put precisely.
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