“I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. Thanks. I never forgive an injury. 1.
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