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It is, I fear, a poor neighborhood." "No worse than Madame Dubois'," Mimo hastened to reassure her, "and London is giving me new ideas." Mirko coughed harshly with a dry sound. Countess Shulski drew him closer to her and held him tight. "You got the address from the Grisoldi? He was a kind little old man, in spite of the garlic," she said.
It rained and rained two three days, and the Dubois canary got completely on our nerves; and, heavens above! the Grisoldi insisted upon cooking garlic in his food at every meal! we had thought to have broken him of the habit, you remember? and up, up it came from his stove. Body of Bacchus! It killed inspiration. I could not paint, my Chérisette, and Mirko could not play.
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