In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. In Old Palace Yard everybody ran. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. Unless he deserts the girl, he won't be so hard to find as formerly. Anna was afterwards astonished at her own selfpossession.
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