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Excerpt from Loaded Dice: A Novel
The French a gallant race laughed Ogilvie, with discreet semitone. In the sense of a Louis Quinze, perhaps, yes; but hardly in the sense of a Chesterfield.
People were pouring out into the lobbies, and our two friends let themselves drift along on the human stream. Just as they passed a box on the lower tier Ogilvie bowed to a lady seated there.
She had a face that made Philip start; it seemed ¿owering so brilliantly out of the dimness. He had noticed it a little while ago, but distance had then clad it with no such Spell as now. They soon passed into the great foyer where gleams the marble statue of Voltaire.
What a magnificent old cynic he looks, mur mured Ogilvie. And the attitude of those claw like hands! They seem as if they'd just finished strangling a sentiment.
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