‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. Thames did not try to cheer her. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. Darrell attempted to reply. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled.
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