‘You won’t get a thing out of her. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. I know faces. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. ‘You are not the only one to seek them out,’ he said.
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