Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. My will never faltered.
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