Never mind. ‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued.
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