” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. Gerald hoped he had covered all options and had resisted the temptation to pay mademoiselle a visit. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Any financial return was inconsiderable against the promise of this psychological treat. Horribly skinny he was, and short too. It shall never be said that I raised my arm willingly against a woman.
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