“How will you live?” she appealed. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. Thames Street was wholly impassable. She shuddered. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. “Sure. "If I get free, I'll have a bout with you at all weapons.
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