Michelle’s eyes were red and bloodshot. It’s a mismatch. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed.
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