The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. "Back!" he cried fiercely. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. I was reduced to 170 a fool, for there were many pretty women from all walks of life in that teeming city.
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