After all, she only LOOKED a woman. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. "Shall I fetch the light, Captain?" whispered Blueskin. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere.
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