She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. ” “I understand,” he said, doggedly. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. The latch had not fully caught.
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