” Ann Veronica made a sympathetic little murmur. 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. ” He repeated several times that he would trust her, though it remained obscure just exactly where the trust came in. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill.
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