The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. Sheppard. “How did you know I haven’t been getting any sleep --?” “Oops, that’s my class. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing.
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