The lady looked them over in silence, and then pouting lips trembled, dark eyelashes fluttered, and in a broken voice, she pleaded, ‘Honoured messieurs, you will not allow this—this pig, to be thus cruel? He cannot arrest me. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year.
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