shouldn’t be friends. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. "I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. He had made it even easier by walking up the steps instead of taking the elevator. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard.
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