” “Would you mind telling me,” Anna asked, “how long I knew you in Paris?” He looked at her sideways. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster.
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