‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. ‘It is imbecile that you are. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. You have to see her to understand. You've caught the colour and the life.
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