In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. They are long gone. 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. A bad man, in fact. It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. "Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. Anna hailed a bus.
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