“THERE is a letter for you, monsieur,” said the concierge of the Hôtel du Soleil et de l’Ecosse. He was a shabby concierge sharing in the tarnish of the shabby hotel which (for the information of those fortunate ones who only know of the Ritz, and the Meurice and other such-like palaces) is situated in the unaristocratic neighbourhood of the Halles Centrales.…
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