“You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. "I'm dumb. ‘Poor things. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero.
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