He yelled at the girls for neglected to hand Lucy a pair of shorts or a sweater while they stood around in shock. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends. She tore open the envelope and read it. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. I am your servitor.
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