‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head.
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