You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. ‘No. She wanted to know. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette.
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