The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. Then she sang. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. The boy she had loved was gone. ’ ‘Don’t tell me,’ exploded his second-in-command. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine.
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