If Mr. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. Were such a thing to happen again, I'd never let Mr.
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