He hesitated. “And now, look at us! See what we have become. ” She laid her hand softly upon his. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head.
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