” “I wish you would use my Christian name,” he said. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. I want to know—just as much as I can. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. All our fraternity are afraid of him; but I laugh at his threats. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all.
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