’ ‘Oh, don’t you?’ Gerald said grimly. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down. F. Spurling, half aside. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park.
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