” The tired woman sat still for a moment. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket.
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