CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. A few random students gawked at them in the hall. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness.
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