There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. When Gianfrancesco came to call this time, she was excited and ready. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them.
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