Muttering something to himself, he appeared to be telling upon his fingers the advantages and disadvantages of some scheme he had in contemplation. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive.
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