Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. Before her was a great Gothic portal. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman.
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