She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. “That is very nice of you,” she said. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice.
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