“There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand. Paris is not the place for two young girls. It was so hopeless to put it to them. I—well, I lost my temper. She could not speak. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad.
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