She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all. I want to leave Paris to-day—this very day. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. “Well, no,” she answered. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth.
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