I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. Paris is not the place for two young girls. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. And I want him out of uniform. .
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