He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. “In a sort of beautiful garden-close—wearing lovely dresses and picking beautiful flowers?” “Ah! If one could!” “While those other girls trudge to business and those other women let lodgings. We both understood that. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown.
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