Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. The two great hotels on their right were still ablaze with lights. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. “You did not wish to see him particularly this evening, then?” Anna hesitated. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. But I dare not accept it. Plote was sleeping or deaf. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign.
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