‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. Thames Street was wholly impassable. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. His arms slipped around her waist as they were on the doorstep and he kissed her lips sweetly. For I still love her mother.
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