A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. Then Mike came along. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. She was bathed in turbid water that had already been used. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. ‘But Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris.
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