His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. “Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. ‘A convenient desire, Mademoiselle Charvill. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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