I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them.
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