And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. If so I shall have to leave. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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