” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. It was for ever. Larry Beck did his best to the flares of her temper from rising. The Dawn Pearl.
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