The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. Think of those days in Paris. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. Afterwards we started for déjeuner in a motor. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old.
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