One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. And catching hold of Thames, he quitted the deck. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb.
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