She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. It must have cut him. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. Indeed, he told me nothing at all. “Then—then we can talk things out. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk.
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