“Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?” with a low bow. ” She dropped back into a crouching attitude and began to weep. ” He left off abruptly. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She could not explain in words why they disappointed her or that she was disappointed. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them.
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