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THE INHERITORS
arm, started visibly and moved swiftly behind my back.
"Messieurs," he said in an urgent whisper, and drew them to a little distance. I saw him say something, saw them pivot to look at me, shrug their shoulders and walk away. I didn't in the least grasp the significance of the scene—not then.
"What's the matter?" I asked my returning friend; "were they talking about me?" He answered nervously.
"Oh, it was about your aunt's Salon, you know. They might have been going to say something awkward . . . one never knows."
"They really do talk about it then?" I said. "I've a good mind to attend one of their exhibitions."
"Why, of course," he said, "you ought. I really think you ought."
"I'll go to-morrow," I answered.
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