Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. Our ideal had fallen. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears.
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