It was the moment for smiles. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. ‘Merci, dieu. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. I'll repay you. You think everything is harmless and simple, and so forth. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl.
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