Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. Fell to sin, did Martha. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. He held her eyes. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do.
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