She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. Gosse was backing towards the table. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van.
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