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A check arrives in Batavia every three months. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. But—if you are a friend of Mr. So he resolved to try another tack. "Flying fish.
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