“They are coming past our table. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets.
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