" "Oh. My death, probably. I mean my cut-offs and boots. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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