The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. CHAPTER XX. I had left Paris. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species.
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