The memory of it was like an echo of an echo.
"Why," said Joan, halting for a moment on her way to the steps of the old hotel, "this looks like a picture postcard of a bit of Paris." "Yes, on the other side of the Seine, near the Odeon.

Our grandfathers imagined that they were very smart when they stayed here.

It's one of the few places in town that has atmosphere." "I like it," said Joan.
The hall was alive with people, laughing and talking, and the walls with the rather bold designs of the posters.

A band, which made up in vim and go what it lacked in numbers, was playing a selection from "The Chocolate Soldier." The place was full of the smell of garlic and cigarette smoke and coffee.

There was a certain dramatic animation among the waiters, characteristically Latin.