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She had paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. ” “Wait? For what?” She replied. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. And they never talked of anything at all, never discussed, never even encouraged gossip. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. Footman or some such. ‘Eh bien. “Well——” She stopped short.
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