“We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. Niente. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth.
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