“My God!” he said again. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. ” He shook his head slowly, smiling mysteriously. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. Besides, it was under false pretences.
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