One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. They took their places at a distant table. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do.
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