It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. My feelings overpower me. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. In after years you can return to your own country—to your friends.
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