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It's twenty minutes past six, and the table d'hote's on time." "You don't mean to say you dine at the table d'hote!" Mr. Flack cried. "Why, don't you like that?" and Francie's candour of appeal to their comrade's taste was celestial. "Well, it isn't what you must build on when you come to Paris. Too many flowerpots and chickens' legs." "Well, would you like one of these restaurants?" asked Mr.
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