The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. And also she didn’t like them. "I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven't polished yet. "What did you ring for, Sir?" she asked, eyeing the group with astonishment.
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