It was the grand nursery of vice. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. But one day he came to me. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. " "I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed Wood. ‘Sapristi. He would pursue that little pastime on some other occasion. I didn’t believe him and I said so.
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