She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. She rapped on Michelle’s door loudly. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.
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