"I thought it best that you should imagine him. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. Wood's ornaments and wearing apparel, they prepared to depart. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. She felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. A neat tale, giving little away. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead.
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