Don’t go back into Victorian respectability and pretend you don’t know and you can’t think and all the rest of it. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours.
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