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roots of his hair

She held out her hand. “I know, Monsieur — Charles told me of your meeting last night, and I am very glad that he asked you to dine with us to-day. ”
Duroy blushed to the roots of his hair, not knowing how to reply; he felt that he was being inspected from his head to his feet. He half thought of excusing himself, of inventing an explanation of the  moncler cheap of his toilette, but he did not know how to touch upon that delicate subject.
He seated himself upon a chair she pointed out to him, and as he sank into its luxurious depths, it seemed to him that he was entering a new and charming life, that he would make his mark in the world, that he was saved. He glanced at Mme. Forestier. She wore a gown of pale blue cashmere which clung gracefully to her supple form and rounded outlines; her arms and throat rose in, lily-white purity from the mass of lace which  moncler jackets online the corsage and short sleeves. Her  moncler jackets online high and curled on the nape of her neck.
Duroy grew more at his ease under her glance, which recalled to him, he knew not why, that of the girl he had met the  moncler outlet online at the Folies-Bergeres. Mme. Forestier had gray eyes, a small nose, full lips, and a rather heavy chin, an irregular, attractive face, full of gentleness and yet of malice.
After a short silence, she asked: “Have you been in Paris a long time? ”
Gradually regaining his self-possession, he replied: “a few months, Madame. I am in the railroad employ, but my friend Forestier has encouraged me to hope that, thanks to him, I can enter into journalism. ”
She smiled kindly and murmured in a low voice: “I know. ”
linbimin34 03.11.2012 0 258
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03.11.2012 (4611 days ago)
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