She appeared to be considering. She sighed with relief. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Capes stood beside Miss Stanley, who was beaming unnaturally, and Mr. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window.
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