Ice had begun to form in the shallows. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. He moaned. .
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