‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. ‘Move, you. Diane spoke first. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position.
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