He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. “But perhaps I want to confess them. " So saying, he threw himself into a chair. “Some day,” she answered.
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