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Updated: May 24, 2025
On my way back, just as I was crossing the Place de l'Opera in the aforesaid cab, a voice hailed me: "Monsieur Mouillard!" I looked first to the right and then to the left, till, on a refuge, I caught sight of M. Plumet struggling to attract my attention. I stopped the cab, and a smile of satisfaction spread over M. Plumet's countenance. He stepped off the refuge. I opened the cab-door.
Had she heard that her son Pierre had the croup, she could not have been more upset. Her bosom heaved, she clasped her hands, and gazed at me with sorrowful compassion. "Poor Monsieur Mouillard!" And two tears, two real tears, coursed down Madame Plumet's cheeks. I should have liked to catch them. They were the only tears that had been shed for me by a living soul since my mother died.
So much the worse, I must finish it: "I will try to reconstruct the scene for you, from the details which I have gathered. "The time is a quarter to ten in the morning. There is a knock at Monsieur Plumet's door. The door opposite is opened half-way and Madame Plumet looks out.
So much the worse, I must finish it: "I will try to reconstruct the scene for you, from the details which I have gathered. "The time is a quarter to ten in the morning. There is a knock at Monsieur Plumet's door. The door opposite is opened half-way and Madame Plumet looks out.
On my way back, just as I was crossing the Place de l'Opera in the aforesaid cab, a voice hailed me: "Monsieur Mouillard!" I looked first to the right and then to the left, till, on a refuge, I caught sight of M. Plumet struggling to attract my attention. I stopped the cab, and a smile of satisfaction spread over M. Plumet's countenance. He stepped off the refuge. I opened the cab-door.
Had she heard that her son Pierre had the croup, she could not have been more upset. Her bosom heaved, she clasped her hands, and gazed at me with sorrowful compassion. "Poor Monsieur Mouillard!" And two tears, two real tears, coursed down Madame Plumet's cheeks. I should have liked to catch them. They were the only tears that had been shed for me by a living soul since my mother died.
On my way back, just as I was crossing the Place de l'Opera in the aforesaid cab, a voice hailed me: "Monsieur Mouillard!" I looked first to the right and then to the left, till, on a refuge, I caught sight of M. Plumet struggling to attract my attention. I stopped the cab, and a smile of satisfaction spread over M. Plumet's countenance. He stepped off the refuge. I opened the cab-door.
So much the worse, I must finish it: "I will try to reconstruct the scene for you, from the details which I have gathered. "The time is a quarter to ten in the morning. There is a knock at Monsieur Plumet's door. The door opposite is opened half-way and Madame Plumet looks out.
Had she heard that her son Pierre had the croup, she could not have been more upset. Her bosom heaved, she clasped her hands, and gazed at me with sorrowful compassion. "Poor Monsieur Mouillard!" And two tears, two real tears, coursed down Madame Plumet's cheeks. I should have liked to catch them. They were the only tears that had been shed for me by a living soul since my mother died.
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