“Bohemianism is the least understood word ever coined. She isn't used to cities. ’ She eyed him. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it. The ring's yours, and you're mine. Something drew you. "She wouldn't let me go. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Anything else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from that. I'll be outside the hotel at nine-thirty.
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