‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. “Don’t bunch too much as you come out,” she added. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. ‘I am done, Gérard. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them.
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