Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. “It is true,” he said, “that I was dining last night at a restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes, and it is true that my companion was a young lady whose name is Pellissier. And yet, the doctor recalled an expression of the girl's: that it was not a dissipated face, only troubled. Does it?” “I think it does. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin.
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