The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. So do please believe that in this matter I am acting for the best. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard.
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