Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. He dared not go on. “Here is my card. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. I'll dig it up. ‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French.
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