Monsieur Charvill, he has not the means to choose different. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. . ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable.
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