He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. “The man who was found dead in your sister’s room was named Hill?” “It is the man,” she answered.
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