What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. 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. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. My nerves were in rags. The starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the Surrey shore. “Don’t be a hypocrite. \" That again. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion.
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