To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone.
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