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The stolid married couple across the way smiled and the man's arm rested on his wife's plump shoulder. So the love boat glided down the river into the night. And the shore faded and became grey, and then black. And the lights came out and cast slender pillars of gold and green and scarlet on the water. Max Tack's hand moved restlessly, sought Sophy's, found it, clasped it.
To entertain those buyers who were interested in goods such as he manufactured in America; to win their friendship; to make them feel under obligation at least to inspect his line when they came to New York that was Max Tack's mission in Paris. He performed it admirably. "What evening?" he said now. "How about to-morrow?" Sophy Gold shook her head. "Wednesday then?
Max Tack's method of approach never varied in its simplicity. "They're not Paris they're Chicago." His soul was in his eyes. "They certainly don't look it!" Then, with a little hurt look in those same expressive features: "I suppose, after the way you threw me down hard the other night, you wouldn't come out and play somewhere, would you if I sat up and begged and jumped through this?"
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