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"I understand," she said. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England. The weed was all right. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. ” He stuttered. She was poor. He was astonished. "Poor creature!" ejaculated Wood.

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