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. ‘Well?’ he uttered between heavy breaths. ‘She’s gone. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. The police are concerned in it in either event. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind.
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