Meantime he stood first on one foot, then the other, gnawing his thumb-nail and blinking rapidly.
"Well, Helm, just look here!" "What ?" "Manon Lescaut." "And what's that ?" "Haven't you ever read it ?" "Read what ?" "This novel--Manon Lescaut." "Never read a novel in my life.

Never expect to." Hamilton laughed freely at Helm's expense, then turned to Jean and gave him back the book.
It would have been quite military, had he taken the precaution to examine between the pages for something hidden there, but he did not.
"Go, give it to her," he said, "and tell her I send my compliments, with great admiration of her taste in literature." He motioned the soldier to show Jean to Alice.

"It's a beastly French story," he added, addressing Helm; "immoral enough to make a pirate blush.

That's the sort of girl Mademoiselle Roussillon is!" "I don't care what kind of a book she reads," blurted Helm, "she's a fine, pure, good girl.

Everybody likes her.