She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Sebastian drew over to her and lifted her chin from her chest. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. It’s well hidden, miss. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. It’s kind of the World War II thing. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding.
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