It's given for the devotees who stay here all summer and swear Rouen is always cool; and nobody dances but me and the very young ones.

It won't be so bad; you can smoke anywhere, and there are little tables.

We'll go." "Thank you, Tom, you're so good to think of it, but----" "But what ?" "Would you mind going alone?
I find it very pleasant sitting on your veranda, or I'll get a book." "Very well, if you don't want to go, I don't.

I haven't had a dance for three months and I'm still addicted to it.

But of course----" "I think I'd like to go." Harkless acquiesced at once, with a cheerful voice and a lifeless eye, and the good Tom felt unaccountably mean in persisting.
They drove out into the country through mists like lakes, and found themselves part of a procession of twinkling carriage-lights, and cigar sparks shining above open vehicles, winding along the levels like a canoe fete on the water.