They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. “How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. Wood.
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