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210 circular tour, Gerrit. It doesn't bring you back. . . to Paris."

"What a queer way you have of saying those things!" said Gerrit, laughing uncomfortably. "You were always a strange girl. Tell me, your father . . . was a waiter, wasn't he?"

"No, a gentleman. My mother was a laundress . . . in Brussels."

"And those twelve years of yours in Paris . . ."

"Made me into a Parisian, you think? . . . Gerrit, I longed for Holland!"

"I'll never believe that."

"Yes, Gerrit, I longed, for Holland."

"You're a great liar . . . with those eyes of yours! I never believe a word you say."

"Gerrit . . . and for you!"

"What's that?"

"I longed for you."

"Yes, of course. Tell that to the marines."

"I remembered the old days . . ."

"Oh, drop it!"

"Don't you know, when . . ."

"Yes, yes, I know everything. Stow all that, you and your recollections! You've taken me in enough, as it is. Why don't you look out for a young, rich chap?"

"You're not old, Gerrit."

"Oh, I'm not old!"