He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. ” She fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. ” “I suppose not. "Your voice seems familiar to me—and—but I'm getting a little deaf—and my eyes don't serve me quite so well as they used to do, especially by this light. ’ But she reckoned without the fellow Trodger. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night.
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