Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thought we saw him, at a café dining with ‘Alcide,’—as a matter of fact, it seems that it was her sister. He might solve the riddle. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest.
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