When he returned, it was always the same. ‘Ah, grandpére. . But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair.
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