She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. The streets were full of colour. The gulf between rich and poor was perhaps greater in France, but by all accounts it was not the canaille who were responsible for the present turmoil. It was better even than the hymn-singing. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. ‘And I do understand.
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