He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. “Think of the mockery!” she said. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it.
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