‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. ” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. There must be something, one feels, in ideas that achieve persistently a successful resurrection. They left the room amongst the last, and Ennison had almost to elbow his way through a group of acquaintances who had all some pretext for detaining him, to which he absolutely refused to listen. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman.
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