gutenberg. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. 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. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. What do you say?” “I agree,” Anna said coldly, “if you will make it three months.
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