You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. Maggot had disappeared. Sampans with fish and fruit and vegetables swarmed about, while overhead gulls wheeled and swooped and circled. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites.
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