“We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. There's the paragraph. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. “Eight, Cavendish Square. I've my own reasons for disliking this job.
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