" She departed reluctantly. ” Sir John clutched at the table with both hands. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right.
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