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. There was some one there. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning.
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