"My rival in espionage." "You have no rival, Nita," he replied, "and she is in the opposite camp." Her two red lips were distorted into a pout.
"Is it over, my task ?" she asked.

"I am weary of Paris.

I love it over here better.

I am weary of French officers, of these solemn officials who come to my room like guilty schoolboys, and who speak of themselves and their importance with bated breath, as though their whisper would rock the world.

My master has enough information ?" "More than enough," he assured her.