Mrs. Michelle bypassed the ordering counter and surfed directly to their table. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. If we were set upon I could not defend you. Gosse took a step or two towards the centre of the room. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. Fas du tout. It is a plain case of alcoholic stupor.
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