She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a little broader than the Boulevards— but one crosses it sometimes.
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