Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. "You'll lose no time," said the thief-taker. After I took the bills it was too late to turn back. .
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