\"Thanks for walking me home. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. He had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower.
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