He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. " "Not now," returned Thames, impatiently. “I don’t know. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it.
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