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Updated: May 31, 2025
The Levantine house, whose gardens came up to the windows of the hotel, had sheltered for some months an artistic celebrity, the sculptor Brehat, who was dying of consumption, and owed the prolonging of his existence to this princely hospitality.
I knew that you had not gone, because the yacht was in the harbour, and I was going to inspect all the inns on the coast, when I remembered Brehat. I have just come from him. It was he who told me you were here." But to whom was he speaking? Who was so singularly obstinate? At last a beautiful, sad voice, which Paul well knew, made the hot afternoon air vibrate. "Well, yes, Jenkins, here I am.
And I was on the point of investigating all the hotels along the shore when I remembered Bréhat. I thought that you would want to stop and see him as you passed. So I came here. It was he who told me that you were at this house." To whom was he speaking? What extraordinary obstinacy the person showed in not replying!
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