"I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. At the gate opening upon the road leading to Dollis Hill were stationed William Morgan and John Dump. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral.
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