“So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. "She has fallen into the villain's hands. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity.
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