” “You are going to sing in London?” he said quietly. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet. A dressing-room then. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War.
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