The storm burst upon them in its fury. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo Bridge; and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he would go on to Waterloo. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights.
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