I remembered a little shop--a little Greek affair with a windowful of pinch-beck--where I had been given a false five-franc piece years and years ago.

The same villainous old Levantine stood in the doorway, perhaps the fez that he wore was the same fez.

The little old woman that we strolled to was bent nearly double.

Her nose touched her wares as often as not, her mittened hands sought quiveringly the papers that the correspondent asked for.

I liked him the better for his solicitude for this forlorn piece of flotsam of his own race.
"Always come here," he exclaimed; "one gets into habits.