" "I thought as much," sneered Mrs. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. ” She yelled. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. Burn your palette and your easel. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. 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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