She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. “Get out of the car. His fingers closed upon her hand. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her.
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