He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. “Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks. She was fine and tender.
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