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She broke off and waved a telegram at me. "The end of my lotus-eating. The arrangements are put through and I'm no longer hung up. So" she made a little grimace "it's the midnight train to Paris." "Surely to-morrow will do," I protested. "To-morrow never does," she retorted. "As you will," said I, knowing argument was hopeless. Meanwhile the concierge was 'allo'-ing lustily into the telephone.
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