The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman.
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