Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky.
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