It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. She drew her naked arms around herself. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living.
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