“Oh, damn!” he said. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. The doctor drew out the contents hopefully. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris.
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