Page:Malot - Nobodys Boy, Crewe-Jones, 1916.djvu/188

 As we walked down a dirty street, with heaps of snow on either side covered with cinders and rotten vegetables, I asked: "Where are we?"

"In Paris, my boy."

Where were my marble houses? And the trees of gold, and the finely dressed people. Was this Paris! Was I to spend the winter in a place like this, parted from Vitalis and Capi?