"What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. ” “But it’s about other things. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness.
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