He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. I can’t afford to get behind. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes.
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