The man was my husband. She felt flattered. McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. " Mrs.
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