The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. I learned of your betrothal, gleaned all the information I could simply by eavesdropping. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found. Her name was Rhea. " "You are offering your hand to me?" "Without reservations. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn.
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