” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. He paced faster, stomping around. Fast. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. But they were old enough to start remembering you as mother, and we cannot have that.
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