His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. “You mean to follow her. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise. 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. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. Wood,—"he'll never mend. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. Every moment or two he bent over his patient. We'll have him yet. She turned out the electric light and gained the hall. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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